


Oh, Lover

by WizardSandwich



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Multi, anyway these are two separate drabbles, but they have similar themes so they're going together, kind of, this is an older fic that i'm cross posting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: This worship is a gift.
Relationships: Prowl/Unknown Mech, Prowl/various
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i'm finally cross posting these from tumblr!

“I love you,” comes the purr next to Prowl’s audial. A confession that lacks the hesitance it should, the caution, the fear of being burned.

“I love you, from your chevron—” The mech’s mouth moves upwards, trails kisses like fire against the side of Prowl’s helm. His lips land on Prowl’s chevron and press against it softly. Then there’s a firm pressure against it. Prowl’s helm tilts back to meet glowing blue. “—to your gorgeous optics.”

Prowl practically whimpers under the heat of that gaze. The soft yet smug smile that’s just the right side of in love. There’s nothing sensual about this. There is only truth and telling it. There is only honesty here.

“I love your doorwings.” Servos trail down the appendages and follow a path according to the new words that spill like water from a faucet. “I love your plating, your paint, your waist. I love the way you fidget when you want to walk away but can’t. I love your servos.”

He catches Prowl’s servos in his, slips his arms past Prowl’s bumper to hold them. His digits intertwine with Prowl’s. They become focus and center. He says, “I love the way you overthink. I love the way you look at me like you’re trying to solve me. I love your lips on mine and the bitter energon taste.”

The mech lets go of one of Prowl’s servos. His servo moves up to Prowl’s jaw and he turns Prowl’s helm so he can look him in the optics. There’s a sudden pressure and Prowl is lost in the sensation of lips against his own.

Yes, Prowl loves this. Loves the way this mech looks at him and sees something worth loving.


	2. Chapter 2

Prowl is a vision decorated in love and lust. His doorwings are draped with rubies and sapphires, a lovely contrast in the low light of the rec room. Gold chains wrap themselves around his neck, tight against the lines. A red gem is nestled against his throat.

“You’re gorgeous,” a mech says, leaning close to Prowl’s audial. Jazz.

His servos carefully run down Prowl’s arms and he fingers the delicate gold chains that run down them, rolling the intertwined crystals between his digits. He’s nonchalant as he examines them.

Prowl shifts under the scrutiny. He crosses one leg over the other in an attempt to seem unbothered. It makes the jewels and gold on his legs glint prettily in the light. Sunstreaker moves behind him.

Even from across the room, Ratchet can see the delicate golden headpiece that he holds. It’s designed to sit against Prowl’s chevron. A little blue gem is designed to sit against the white that contrasts the red. Sunstreaker fusses over it when he sets it on Prowl’s helm.

“He’s right,” Sunstreaker compliments coolly as he does. He takes a step back when he’s satisfied, examines it for another moment, and goes back to fussing again.

When he’s truly done, Prowl looks like a decadent treasure in the Autobot trove. Mirage slips into the seat next to him. His approval is obvious. He eyes Prowl as if he is a gift from Primus, some holy thing that he cannot wait to touch. He arm slips around Prowl’s waist and his digits toy with the gold that runs across Prowl’s hips.

“You truly look like you belong amongst the greatest of Cybertron’s treasures,” Mirage offers the practiced compliment.

Prowl eats it up with the brightening of optics, the shifting of doorwings. He entire frame seems to radiate pride at the simple words.

Mirage leans back a bit to grab a paintbrush from a bucket that sits on the floor. Red paint drips onto the floor, flakes of crystal shimmer in what little light there it. He sits up and presses the brush to Prowl’s mouth.

It’s enamoring to watch Prowl’s lips part. And Mirage paints them carefully, like he is painting a masterpiece. On Prowl’s other side, Sunstreaker picks up another brush. He presses it against Prowl’s plating and begins his work in sweeping lines.

Prowl shivers under all the attention. Ratchet can hear the gold rattle against itself from across the room. He watches the way Jazz’s servos run across Prowl’s painting and the worship in Mirage’s movements. The way Sunstreaker takes as much pride in this as any project.

Prowl is an idol, a shining piece of the Autobot cause. He is commander and lover and coveted. He is a treasure and a gift all at once, something the Autobots’ have because Prowl _lets_ them keep him and nothing more.


End file.
